Pink-Eyed Toddler, Wild-Eyed Mama

The next time you’re looking for a good way to express the concept of ‘nearly impossible’ you can say, “Why it’s just like giving a toddler eye drops!”

And for ‘utterly impossible’ tack onto that, “When you’ve only had 4 1/2 hours of sleep the night before!”

And for extra credit you can also say, “And the kid’s in a shopping cart in the Target parking lot because it’s there that you realize you should’ve given her the eye drops an hour ago!”

Fun! [She says while rifling through the medicine cabinet for any leftover C-section meds that might have mind-altering effects.]

What makes this ordeal truly Orwellian for me, is that with pink eye being as turbo-contagious as it is, I’m in solitary confinement with the Tasmanian Devil Patient. Well, me and wee Paigey, who I’ve been trying to keep out of Kate’s germ-infested “I-wanna-hug-my-sista” reach.

I mean, Paigey is already afflicted with a variety of her own wretched skin maladies. Despite all my dairy denial everything has flared up again in extremis. The last thing she needs is to add pink eye to the mix. Right now going cheek to cheek with Paige feels like cuddling up with a burlap sack. One that flakes on you. Hopefully the dermatologist tomorrow can proffer an easy, instant, non-steroidal cure.

See? Even when the going gets tough I’m a die-hard optimist.

That said, is it too late to get my old job back?